Gas Explosion
by Private Maladict
Summary: Dudley Dursley wakes up in hospital to find that everything he had is gone forever. For the first time in his life, something's gone wrong that can't be fixed by punching somebody. And worst of all - Dudley can't remember how it happened...


**Author's notes: **A big thank you to my beta, Dave, for encouraging me to rethink the original version. :)

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**_Gas Explosion_**

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Dudley can't remember the night his parents died.

He doesn't know why, but that makes it all so much worse. His whole life is gone, everything he knows and cares about is buried in the rubble of his house. And he can't remember how it happened.

_Gas explosion._

That's what they told him in the hospital. Only it doesn't seem right, though Dudley can't understand why. _It's the faces... The way their faces went blank when they said it._

Dudley rarely notices people's faces, except as targets to punch. He notices when faces are screwed up in fear and pain and crybaby tears. He notices bloodied noses.

But thinking back on that morning in the hospital, it's the faces he remembers. There was something in the eyes, the way they seemed to glaze over. The doctor, the counsellor, even his friends.

_Gas explosion. Terrible accident._

Empty faces.

Dudley shivers and huddles into his leather jacket. _It doesn't make sense, it just doesn't make any sense._

"I haven't had time to fix your room," says Aunt Marge, interrupting his thoughts. "I asked Colonel Fubster to go in and open the window, air the old place out. Probably need to get you a new mattress, the one on that bed must be older than you are..."

They're in the car, on their way to Aunt Marge's. To Dudley's new home. They left the city behind about an hour ago, and now he can see green fields and hedges passing by. The car smells of dog and stale cigarette smoke and Aunt Marge's foul perfume. Ripper in the back is growling and clawing at the window.

"...We'll have to get you some new clothes, of course, and some uniforms for school. Your fees are paid up 'till the end of this year, so that's something. I called them up, they said you can get some uniforms second-hand. After this year, you'll have to go somewhere else, of course. Your dad didn't leave all that much saved up, and God knows I can't afford those fees..."

Aunt Marge has been talking non-stop the whole way. Dudley stares silently out the window and tries to ignore her. He wishes he could shut her up.

The funny thing is, he can remember the beginning of that night quite clearly. They had a few drinks in the park, pushed the kids off the broken swings. That one with the curly hair – how he squealed! Then they went to the pub, and there was that fight with the Stonewall kids. They got thrown out of the place, he remembers that. Just for punching that insolent little stoner...

And then he woke up under a strange ceiling, and people were talking to him in gentle voices. He didn't know where he was, what had happened.

One moment – standing outside the pub, shaking fists at the stoners. The next – waking up in hospital.

In between – nothing.

Only it isn't nothing. In that nothing is the biggest something that's ever happened to him. In that nothing, his life changed forever, and he can't remember it.

There's a box in the back, a big cardboard box with everything that could be saved from the wreckage. A few pathetic items – some clothes, a couple of books, a few old toys. It's amazing to think that all that's left of his life can fit into a cardboard box.

_It's not fair,_ thinks Dudley. _It's not fair just to take everything away like that. How can I be left with nothing?_

_Nothing_. That word has been whirling around in his mind since that first horrible morning. It's all so unfair, so horribly unfair. Dudley wants to rage and scream and demand his life back. He wants people to know that this isn't fair, that you can't just leave him with nothing.

Only, there isn't any point. For the first time in his life, something's gone wrong that can't be fixed by punching someone or pretending to cry. There's nobody left who can help him, nobody left who will grant his every wish at the first sight of tears.

At the hospital, it had stung him so suddenly. No: it had hurt like all buggery, to be crying and not to have anyone fussing over him and trying to fix things to make it all better. It had hurt like buggery, because he'd been crying for real, sitting there in the antiseptic whiteness, crying for real, and no one could make it better. And even as he cried, he had felt that _nothing_ spreading, he had realised that there was nothing left on the inside either.

Oh yes, that nothing on the inside is the worst of all, that horrible empty feeling that can't be filled with all his memories. His parents are gone, and all he's got left from them fits into a cardboard box. Ripper is chewing on it now. That stuff will be gone in time: weeks or months, however long it takes for him to lose the books and wear out the clothes. And then it'll all be gone, and there'll be nothing left at all, nothing on the inside except memories. _And they're not enough._

"…Country air will be good for you boy, and you can help me out with the dogs. You can have one of your own, would you like that? Of course, I can't get you all expensive things like your dad used to, I don't earn what poor Vernon did, but we'll get by, you'll see, it'll all be fine. I'll take care of you, don't you worry, it's the least I can do for my dear brother, God rest his soul." She sniffs, and falls silent, for the first time in hours, it seems.

_Gas explosion._

There's only one thing Dudley remembers, one image that's left in that gaping hole. Dudley doesn't know what it means or whether it's even real. But it hovers there in that blank nothing, and it haunts him even in the daytime, always there just on the edge of his vision.At night, when Dudley lies awake thinking about his old life and his new one, wondering how it can be possible for everything to change so much and so suddenly, the image fills his mind and refuses to let him rest. Dudley wishes he knew what it meant, almost as desperately as he wishes he knew what really happened that night. Almost as desperately as he wishes that night had never happened.

The image is a skull, made up of emerald stars, with a snake hanging tongue-like from its mouth.

**Author's notes:** This fic is something a bit different for me, and I'd really like to know if I've done it right. So please review - all comments will be appreciated!


End file.
